Illusion

It was some shy hours past midnight, the sky was painted in deep layers of purple. Tokyo was sound asleep, and solitude was all it owned. For some people though, sleeping was a luxury they couldn't afford. And instead of being a sultry night of an aptly summer day, these violet hours could be cold. So cold.

The altitude, perhaps. Astood on the rooftop of a thirteen-leveled building was a man enslaved to the vigilance of the moon; on his right palm was the barrel of a device of menace, on his left its trigger, and on his telescopic wince was an ill-fated man he just sent afloat on his own blood. A second later, another man over the distance jumped over the dead body onto the freshly, and faintly, holed window glass, looking up and about in the quest of catching the marksman's shadows, only to succeed and put on a manner so taut his eyes could burst out anytime. Along a brief, nonchalant sneer, the sharpshooter put away the earpiece he used to lure the cited horror of his self-acclaimed contender's into his pocket, and looked away for good. He foresaw no merits any other way.

Exactly one minute later, morning came early when inferno erupted on the very building he just sent a man to his last catch of breath. After a second blast gushed in the parking lot, he knew it was a signal for him to clear. He grabbed a parachute sling bag he readied beside him and packed his personal Arctic Warfare neatly inside it. Not before he received a message from a comrade of his did he know where he would head to.

'724. See you real soon. V.'

He closed the clasp of his phone and made a sortie from the rooftop, climbing down the stairs to the seventh floor. In front of room number twenty four, having donned a bellhop costume with his long hair tucked in the cap for awhile now, he knocked twice in rhythm and articulated the words he loathed for having to say. "Room service,"

The room occupant did seem to have been expecting his coming as it took no more than a blink of an eye for the door to open, but in truth, it was nothing more than his veiled petulance that welcomed him.

"You're in," The higher-ranking operate announced coldly quite the fact they had both acknowledged. Just before he launched a wily retort, another voice came from the other side of the room, this time it was a female's. "Congratulations, Rye. You could really come in handy,"

Vermouth's ever captivating sweet nothings were fated to doom men into a blight of unrequited desire, true, but what rather bugged Rye's mind was that he thought it didn't apply to Gin, while how he witnessed her current stance suggested the otherwise.

Then he could hear his brain laughed at its own doing. Whatever did posses him into thinking of such a trivial matter?

Vermouth came forward to him, pulled herself closer enough to aim her right palm into the back of his neck. He noticed Gin's eyes were tailing her hand, but to his chagrin, not a hint of merriment was fashioned as it would have if it was someone else instead of Vermouth involved.

In a swift nimbleness he tackled Vermouth's hand before it landed on his surface.

"What you're looking for is right here,"

He opened his right palm to reveal a sound tracker put earlier on the costume collar for the mission. Of course, he knew it was there even before he dressed up. "Although I agree trust isn't something to generously dispense nowadays, I would insist disputing over this senseless scrutiny,"

The woman with the debt of explanation smirked. "Don't take it personally. The surveillance monitor didn't work at all throughout the night, so we had to find another way to get a grip on the situation. Thankfully, you did decide to come with your own gun since the M4 is still erring. So we thought, why don't we just make you a monitor and slip it to your costume before you wore it? At least we got to know who made the shot."

Rye moved no muscles, shifted no air.

"So," she continued. "You free this Friday night?" Vermouth's coaxing yielded perplexed curves on Rye's lips, signaling an approval for the date. So it's three days away, he thought.

"You'll be receiving the details of the meeting anytime soon, so you'd better keep your phone close all right. Plus, that person hath bestowed upon you the greatest virtue of the organization's staff welfare program. Have a great day off, silver bullet."

As surprised was he to note the words day and off combined, Rye was at least a little bit startled hearing the last two utterances Vermouth hissed into his ears. It was the first time he was attributed with such provenance.

"Until Friday, then," Throwing a slight leer, Rye began to make his way out from the room.

"Say, Rye." Gin, having been rather mute throughout the tryst, halted his personally disfavored underling's retreat when his was already half a step outside.

"...Suppose you know anything about the screwed up monitor..."

Rye took a moment of silence. He recognized fully the air of suspicion, sharply aimed by a man he had always blotted with antipathy. Another thing he exactly knew was what the answer to this was, and more importantly, what his answer was going to be.

"I'll find out."

Home

Akai Shuichi found himself against the steering wheel of his Chevy that early morning, helming the semi truck south. As always, cigarette smoke was fuming out from his open left window. As always, the man was deep in thought.

A part of his head was overjoyed for making his current standing a step away into successfully confiscating one of the most troublesome tasks he was ever assigned for. Another part understood completely how the slightest error done could obliterate the whole three years of his monumental toils. Either it was one way or another, he realized that more than one lives were hanging on a slim thread of survival due to his actions during the three years span hustle, each of which he would sacrifice himself to save.

He put out the fire on his cigarette and parked his car at a seemingly random parking slot, getting out of it and made a long march throughout the street blocks. A moment later, he found himself standing in front of a big, bronzy square building in Minato, Tokyo.

"If it isn't Akai-san! The rest of the crew already awaits you in Lance Hall, please come in."

The US embassy had been a home to FBI meetings for the past eight months, since Gerry Hendley, a close colleague of James Black, the agents' supervisor, and an ex sleeper in Japan himself before his career shift, rose to ambassadorship. Of course, Hendley's share of role was nothing more than providing a safe, secured, and secluded shelter; a responsibility he held for the entire US citizen in Japan. During that past eight months, a number of the staff had made acquaintances with that portion of undercover agents the bureau had slipped throughout the nation.

"Thank you, Miss," He had to admit he was never good at remembering names of friendly faces.

As he headed towards the hall, he inspected each and every figure passing his sight; a routine he naturally developed living a discrete life. There weren't many people yet since it was early, only several staffs whose face he was familiar of. He opened the hall door as he arrived shortly afterwards.

"Agent Akai! You did it!"

He saw a swarm of agents, formerly seated on the chairs around the round table, rising up and ambushed him with venerating embraces. He stood set, replying his underlings' adoration with a faint, mirthless smile. "I would like to hear reports on the victim."

"Yessir. On August 21st 5.34 p.m the victim, Keiichiru Sakamoto, journalist of Japan Morning Sun's Himitsu, finally agreed to comply with the witness program shortly before I sent you the ping. Team moved soon afterwards; at 6.42 Agent Caruso successfully hijacked all the surveillance cameras in the building, including the one linked with enemy's surveillance, thus creating a window for Agent Yokai to infiltrate the building to brief the victim and supply him with fake blood and bulletproof alloy which serve as your target later on. At 8.01 when that was done, Agent Driscoll proceeded to eradicate any data in danger of exposure to the enemy and additionally finished setting up an escape for the victim. At 9.34, operation was put on wait. At 11.31, convict under code name Bourbon infiltrated the building and in 12.33 was on clear position to execute. You made the shot at 1.12. At 1.19 victim was evacuated with multiple minor burnt injuries from the explosion and now under the care of recovery team and investigation team for questioning. Victim is scheduled for his flight to Switzerland on Friday evening. Associates in Switzerland have confirmed their assistance. Operation accomplished. End of report." The agent finished his long report, handing Shuichi a stack of paper he just reviewed.

Done skimming the report, Shuichi's glance turned to that specific subordinate of his, the one who had lately been the closest depiction of a confidant to him, considering the lone wolf mannerism he had always been sporting.

The brawny man understood the call and approached him, ready to receive the classified notice from his superior.

"Camel," he opened his speech. "The crows were wondering about their surveillance cut,"

Camel was startled. He wondered if the news he just heard was a fatal blow. Observing his aide's terrorized air, Shuichi made amends by citing what occurred after he offered Gin to investigate it. "Fret not. We had a coincidental help from our rotten colleague. Her suggestion was that Bourbon needed to make sure he was completely on his own, the guy being so self-satisfied. Thankfully, it seemed believable enough."

The lesser ranked agent gasped in relief. "We will take that consideration into account next time, Akai-san. I am truly regretful for the unsound judgment I made. Hadn't you been under their surveillance you would have commanded us a better tactic than mine was."

Shuichi patted Camel on the back before turning to the rest of the audiences. "You have done exceptionally remarkable, Camel. Thank you for your hard work."

"Gentlemen, our victory is near. We have worked out our latest drop of sweat, and this Friday it will be paid off. Be prepared; be aptly prepared, for after prevailing our final blitz, our next destination will be but one; home."

Wide smiles formed on the faces of the meeting attendees; eight FBI agents who had long been away from their families in the states. They might be men with no mercy when appointed to be so, but being human was all they were. The faces of their daughters, lovers, the taste of homemade dishes, and the touch of dignity welcoming them, all surrounded their minds when their leader uttered a word so melodious they were aching for having been reminded of the place they had been longing to be: home.

Amidst the eager positivism of his team, Akai Shuichi, the leader of the operation, retreated into seclusion. He raided the pocket of his jacket and took out the pack of cigarettes deposited inside it. Soon the faint fire from his lighter reached out to the tip of the last stick in the pack. He clasped its tip in-between his lips, inhaling and exhaling it slowly in an agonizing manner.

The fire hadn't even reached the half of the stick when he decided to put it out all of a sudden. He slurred his hands in his trousers pockets, and looked out to the window. When his gaze returned, his left hand was already holding his phone before his eyes. He navigated through his contact list, an act of redundancy since the one person he had in mind had a number he could perfectly spell. Before long, his thumb petrified when he realized the highlight was a click away from the name he had been expecting. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as an attempt to clear his mind from the bludgeoning baggage he had burdened himself with. Albeit being nowhere near ready, he decided to open his eyes and face her name.

'宮野明美'

Devil's Whisper

Earlier that day—if 4 a.m served fairly as one—Vermouth was busy on the monitor her endeared partner had left unattended, her fingers feverishly dabbling on the keyboard in the pursuit of her own objective. She can't hide her excitement; not after the mission she assumed to have been postponed astonishingly turned up on exactly the opposite fashion. She was on the brim of triumph, and there left only one thing for her to prove.

And there it was, on the monitor, crystal clear, what she had been expecting for; the beating pulse of a specific person, hearty and vigorous, as opposed to popular belief, transmitted from a pulse tracker she foxly set up on him way earlier.

She closed the screen; uniting it with the keyboard, and molded her face into a sly elation. It was the second time she witnessed the pulse of a dead man, and for her to get a good grasp of what had been going on? It was more than enough.

In her palm was a ticket with which she was sending someone home.

I wasn't sure if this was to be expected, I think the previous chapter might be a little bit ambiguous about who made the kill? Anyway, I kind of had it updated to make it a little less confusing. Also, did you spot Gosho's fake death plot in this chapter? Sorry for the lack of novelty, but I need to hint at how an FBI agent should be familiar with this kind of trickery.

Credits to my professors and to your prayers for making the exams exceptionally doable *wink*

Replies:

Darkoceansky: hahahah thank you thank you, can't really distinguish between action/thriller/suspense/crime(when any was involved) here, so yeah anything would do XP

Ai-chan: IKR! Chiba love story vs Bourbon's dilemmas, place your bet. Glad to have you around xx

Dimas: Lolzz I just gave you a 2500-words-long answer to that

Marutaro: BETCHA! And so are they mine! Obviously gonna ramble about their 'jiken' in no time *wink* *wink*

Enji89: thank you! I hope you like this chapter :)

And to all guests and everyone else, thank you for the supports! Always happy to receive your inputs here. Do anticipate the upcoming last chapter of the story, starring Bourbon, Vermouth, aaand-I know, I miss her too-Sherry. Stick around ;)